


words come easier by night

by heylifeitsemily



Series: awfully fond [3]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M, Moon Godlike Watcher, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Thunderstorms, this is very short but i am so soft for them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:48:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19119274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylifeitsemily/pseuds/heylifeitsemily
Summary: The rain's coming down something fierce. Evain's hand reaches out to trace paths along his shoulder blades, mindless patterns to soothe them both.





	words come easier by night

The rain's coming down something fierce. Each flash of lightning darts through the gaps between shutter and stone, illuminating the room not enough for him to make out any detail, but just the right amount to keep him from drifting off. Evain's awake too, judging by the restless shuffle of her legs beneath the blanket. The rain's always set her off.

Thunder claps. Sweat and the air's humidity mingle on Edér's skin. Evain's hand reaches out to trace paths through it along his shoulder blades, mindless patterns to soothe them both. He could do without Durance's snoring, but one room at the inn split between six is still better than being at the whim of the elements. Her touch is feather light, and if he focuses, she is drawing the sun, a castle spire, a bouquet of flowers, the ocean.

Her fingers skirt around the wound at his side. That's how they got bed privileges for the night - a nasty gash along his ribs, and half her energy spent trying to will the muscle and bone to reacquaint with one another. The images in her touch devolve into curves and dots. It takes another strike of lightning jolting him awake for him to realize she's writing.

First, his name in broad, loopy script, ending at a pressure point midway down his back. 

 _Soldier_ in a more hesitant touch, like she's reluctant to stir memories he's left forgotten. She's always tiptoeing like that. Edér's never thought of Ondra as a patient woman, so the Watcher's inclination towards diplomacy must come from experience rather than nature. She hasn't told him much about her past beyond the broad strokes. He hasn't figured out how to ask yet.

 _Funny_ , then  _dark._ A little gallows humour never hurt anyone, 'cept maybe the man wearing the noose.

Lightning cracks again. _Brave_. _Reckless_ , she amends. As if she has any right to call him reckless with the way she dodges in and out of a skirmish armed with nothing but a pair of daggers, giving him a heart attack. At least _he_ carries a shield around.

 _Perceptive,_ she scrawls along the diagonal, ending just over the curve of his hip bone. That's an odd one. Before he has the chance to think on it, her calloused fingers start at the edge of his bandages, pressing  _martyr_ into his skin, harsher as the letters trail on.  _Reckless_ again. 

Edér hashalf a mind to roll over and give her the same treatment, but his side probably won't appreciate the jostling. Not to mention that the thought of running his fingers over the smooth expanse of her back is more than he cares to dwell on half-awake and recovering from blood loss. He bets her skin is soft, like the glow from the markings along her spine. Sometimes they're bright enough to shine through her undershirt, and sometimes he blinks and they're gone, like he's imagined it altogether.

What would he write?  _Gentle,_ maybe.  _Fierce_  like the storm overhead _._ They go together more often than you would think. She deserves the moniker of  _reckless_ at least twice as much as he does, but she also gets _cautious_ when they aren't in the heat of battle, and  _funny_ and  _smart_ and  _kind_ to help balance it out.  _Trusting_.  _Loving. Lovely._

He must be shifting somehow, because then she traces  _rest_ over his shoulder blades. He breathes out a laugh.

The rain lessens to a drizzle and so does she, but not before  _friend_ is scribbled at the base of his neck. Evain rolls over so that they lie back to back. Her touch is cool, but  _f_ _riend_ manages to burn like a brand.

**Author's Note:**

> Evain is pretty cavalier with affection, part because she's touch-starved, and part because it comes easier than words. Not beta read, so if you see a mistake, lemme know!


End file.
